Friction
by shortstackedcheesecake
Summary: The main four have been so close, for so long, there was bound to be some friction between them. But those intense, intimate, and mushy encounters make them realise how lucky they really are. Multiple ships. Rated T.


**A/N:** _I'm not entirely sure what this is, but it was a lot of fun to write. I love the dynamic between the main four, it's about time I wrote a oneshot for them. I hope it's fun to read too, and I'd love to hear your thoughts and I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading!_

* * *

 **14**

Lying in bed, listening to another caustic, grimy accusation from the next room; hearing another unimportant object being hurled against the wall because his parents couldn't aim for shit when they were wasted; Kenny winced and thought back to a few hours earlier.

When evening had been drawing in, still bright, still promising, and Karen had come into his room to tell him that she was just about to leave for Flora's house. Another sleepover. Even then, he had wanted to tell her not to go, that they could have their own fun here. But she was smiling so brightly, so eagerly clinging to her shabby over-night bag, and she was ten years old now. She had her own life, her own friends, and Kenny was happy for her. He wouldn't have wanted to deprive her of that, no matter how heavy the sting when he watched her walk away, no matter how lonely and frightened he felt lying in bed now. He just wanted to shrink and disappear under the covers.

All the screaming, the destruction, was easier to withstand when he knew Karen was in the next room. Knowing that at any moment she could slip through the door, her eyes welling with tears, stopped Kenny from escaping out the window and running away. He was supposed to be there for her, to make her laugh when she wanted to cry, to drown out the explosions happening a few feet away. Safe, dependable, like an anchor, and anchors were supposed to stay put. Now, without his sister, without his purpose, he felt alone, like he was drowning. Still, there were rays of relief filtering through the smothering waves.

Reaching for his battered phone, Kenny typed a familiar message to Eric: _can i come over?_

He couldn't bear to look at the message for too long - his pride was already bruised – so he placed the phone face down on his chest. His heart thudded like it was desperately trying to keep time with the hysterics coming from the living room. Kenny flinched as if his phone was a defibrillator to the chest when it buzzed.

" _sure,_ " Eric replied. It was quickly followed by, " _hurry up."_

Kenny smiled to himself before throwing back the covers and crawling to the edge of his bed to retrieve his sneakers. He kept one eye on the bedroom door as he tied his laces, although he supposed the wellbeing of their kids was the last thing on his parents' minds right now. That thought made it a lot easier for him to climb out the window, despite the chilly night that greeted him.

It was a short, quiet walk to Eric's house, but Kenny wasn't perturbed by the silence. He was glad of it, and he took big gulps of mountain air like he was inhaling the peace. The air felt warm in his lungs the closer he got to Eric's place. The lights were off, but Kenny made his way up the path regardless. When he reached the front door, he crouched down and stuck his hand through the cat flap, the light from the Cartmans' hallway shone out into the street.

Kenny furrowed his eyebrows when nobody responded on the other side. He and Eric had developed a system from when Kenny first needed a respite from his warring parents. It wasn't complex, and was practically fool proof. Unless Eric had forgotten? Had responded to Kenny's text before rolling over and going back to sleep? Lowering his head, Kenny peered through the cat flap and found Eric had indeed fallen asleep waiting for him, head resting against the door and snoring softly.

 _Stupid asshole._

Kenny once again reached through the cat flap and punched his friend's leg.

"Ow!" Eric yelped, waking up with a start. "What the fuck!"

Poking his head in once more, Kenny whispered, "shut the hell up, fatass, and let me in!"

"Damn it, Kenny…" Eric grumbled.

Kenny grinned, standing up and waiting for Eric to unlock the door. That grin didn't dissipate when Eric was bleary-eyed in front of him, wiping his mouth to catch any drool.

"Hey…"

"Hi," Eric replied, voice hoarse with sleep. He scowled and tugged Kenny forward. "Get inside, it's freezing."

They didn't talk as they made their way upstairs, not wanting to disturb Eric's mom. When they arrived in his room, Eric flicked the lamp on, while Kenny kicked off his shoes – not bothering with the laces – and shrugging off his jacket. A lazy smile stretched across Eric's face when Kenny flopped on his bed. He always found a strange kind of victory in making Eric smile like that, peeling back that grumpy outer layer. It made Kenny relax just that little bit more in Eric's bed, so much bigger and warmer than his own.

"Scooch!" Eric instructed when he joined Kenny on the bed, nudging him in the ribs.

Chuckling, Kenny obeyed and got under the covers. His eyes were wandering the ceiling mindlessly when Eric did the same. The act of sharing a bed was no stranger to the two boys now than sharing a couch, or a bucket of KFC (though Eric tended to hog chicken like he did the duvet). Kenny had slept on the floor once, but Eric had told him that if he was going to shiver like that he may as well just get into bed with him. He'd rather share a bed than have to listen to Kenny's teeth fucking chattering all night.

"So what were they fighting over tonight?" Eric asked. "Who gets the last can of Pabst?"

Kenny sighed. "No, apparently my mom's fucking some busboy at Olive Garden."

"A busboy? Aren't they, like, eighteen?"

"Yeah…" Kenny muttered, wrinkling his noise. "She would never do that though."

"How do you know?"

"She just wouldn't." Kenny shook his head. "My dad is so full of shit though, I know he's cheated on my mom."

"You got proof?"

"No, just a feeling…"

Eric rolled his eyes. "Wow, Ken, that's super fucking conclusive."

"Well, I can't just _ask_ him, dude."

"Get them both on Springer."

"Shut the hell up, man!"

Kenny couldn't help but laugh at the image of his parents on national TV, as mortifying as it would be. He kicked Eric under the bed, though it still didn't wipe the smirk off his face. A few more kicks were exchanged, before Eric yawned, and grumbled under his breath.

"Quit it, dickhead, I need to sleep."

Eric turned his back on Kenny, and he shook his head, staring up at the ceiling.

"Damn, dude, you're so boring!"

"I'm not boring, I'm tired," Eric replied, not turning around.

Kenny smirked, shuffling closer until his chest was pressed against Eric's back.

"You're just scared I'll kick your ass," he teased, right in Eric's ear.

"What?" Eric looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. "You're such a scrawny piece of shit, dude, I would destroy you!"

"Nope, I'm hella fast," Kenny grinned. "I could kick your ass before you even knew what hit you… which would probably be my fist in your stupid face-"

Kenny huffed when Eric rolled over, pinning his shoulders to the mattress.

"You're on, dude," Eric replied.

Kenny dismissed his evil, half-smile. The mischievous sparkle in Eric's eye was far too distracting. He supposed he had been doing that throughout their entire friendship, appreciating the fun, reckless side of his BFF, and wincing at what was so much crueller and twisted about him. Maybe that appreciation, that acknowledgement, was what made Kenny feel safe enough to turn to Eric for help in the first place?

A couple of hours later they were breathless and exhausted enough to conclude their wrestling match with a tie. They drifted off in a heap, over the covers and the sheets creased and tangled beneath them. The sun on Kenny's face woke him up, shining brightly through the curtains. Evidently, he had been using Eric as a pillow, his nose pressed against his warm, wide chest. He chuckled softly at Eric's snoring, and felt his eyes begin to drift shut again as Eric's chest rose and fell below him.

As comfortable as this felt, and as much as he was enjoying this, Kenny knew that he should probably detach himself from this rather intimate position before Eric woke up and saw. Otherwise, Kenny would never wake up like this again; rested, and content, and with his problems adrift on the stormy sea. Right now, Eric's bed was a blissful island that he didn't want to leave.

Inching away slowly, the breath escaped Kenny's lungs when Eric grumbled and pulled him back. Closer than before, and holding him tightly, his arms _actually around him._ Kenny's heart was pounding as if a boa constrictor had coiled itself around him, not the arms of his best friend. But when he felt Eric's hot breath at his scalp, and his nose buried in his hair, Kenny's body loosened and he closed his eyes. He still had no idea why this was even happening, or what would occur when they both woke up later on, but that didn't matter. In Eric's firm embrace, Kenny couldn't move even if he wanted to.

* * *

 **15**

Kyle had returned home after another day of school just as his parents were about to leave for another visit to a couple's counsellor. His mother had greeted him, and reeled off instructions of how to warm up the meals she had kept for him and Ike in the fridge in one uncomfortable breath, while his father nodded sheepishly at him. He was still embarrassed about the whole arrangement, and in fact hadn't wanted to tell his children about the presence of a couple's counsellor in their lives. But his mom had enforced a policy of honesty in the house and was abiding to it rigidly. Still, Kyle supposed it was better to sit alone in your house knowing your parents are out trying to save their marriage, than knowing you were alone in a house your parents were trying to divide with the assistance of a divorce lawyer.

Ike had jogged downstairs five minutes after their parents had walked out of the door, laptop tucked under his arm, informing Kyle that he was going to hang out with friends. Kyle often found it incomprehensible that this tall, pimpled boy with an already uneven voice was his ten year old brother. Maybe they did mature earlier in Canada… or perhaps puberty was catching when all of Ike's friends were older than him.

Now sitting on the couch, with an empty plate on the coffee table, and a show Kyle wasn't even watching playing on the TV, he thought maybe he should ask the guys if they wanted to come over. But before he could even pick up his phone there was a knock at the door. Quick and short, he could tell it was Stan. But it lacked that signature boyish exuberance. In fact, it seemed rather hollow. Furrowing his eyebrows, Kyle went to answer it.

When he opened the door, Stan's hands were tucked into his jacket pockets. His shoulders were slouched, and his eyes were wet; like they could brim with tears any minute. Kyle's throat tightened.

"Hey, dude…" Stan said with a sniffle.

"Hey," Kyle whispered, before raising his voice. "What's up, man?"

"Me and Wendy broke up. For good."

Kyle gripped the doorknob a little tighter, reeling at those two condemning words. Definite separation for Wendy and Stan was unheard of.

"For good?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, we've deleted each other's numbers and everything. A clean break, or whatever. It was her idea-"

Stan pursed his lips and looked away. Kyle supposed the pity on his face was too much to bear, or perhaps Stan had caught a glimpse of his heartbroken reflection in Kyle's eyes.

Kyle sighed, something creaking inside him too.

"Come on, dude," he murmured, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Stan's wrist.

Stan let himself get pulled inside, and once the door was shut Kyle wrapped his arms around him. He felt relieved when Stan buried himself into the embrace, when hot tears wet his shirt. At least he was expressing all that emotion instead of letting it fester, horrid and destructive. But Kyle still winced hearing Stan sob, feeling him shudder in his arms. His own nose burned and anxiety clutched his stomach, because he knew how low Stan could sink, how despondent and bleak his rock bottom could be. Kyle was willing to do anything to keep him from falling, to hold him up, even if it meant standing in the middle of his living room for hours letting him cry.

"It's okay, Stan," Kyle said gently, stroking his back. "It'll be okay."

"How?" Stan asked, muffled into Kyle's shirt.

"I… I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know what to say."

"That's a first."

Kyle couldn't help but chuckle, relieved when Stan did too. It sounded so warm and lovely when they were pressed close together.

"Making jokes… that's something, right?" Kyle asked, still smiling.

"Yeah." Stan nodded. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Slowly, Stan slipped out of Kyle's embrace. He dabbed his face with his sleeve, trying to catch stray tears. He was also trying to smile whenever he caught Kyle's eyes. But Kyle wanted to tell him to stop, to hold his wrists, to just let him cry and frown as much as he wanted.

"Can I get you anything?" Kyle asked, cringing at the question. He sounded like Stan's waiter at a restaurant, not his best friend. He just wanted to help. "Like, a tissue or something?"

Stan shook his head. "No, just a drink."

"Okay. I think we have Sprite here or-"

"No, dude," Stan cut in with a small smile, both wry and unsure. "A real drink. Like, alcohol."

Kyle blinked, before he glanced around the room like he could find a response on the walls. Stan hadn't been drunk since they were ten, and for good reason too. Normally, he grimaced at the stuff.

"Have your parents got any?" he asked, stepping forward.

Kyle remembered seeing a bottle of wine and a six pack in the fridge, and he knew his dad always kept a stash of whiskey in his office. But he discarded that idea immediately. He remembered Stan's slurred, blunt words, and lidded, unfocused eyes, and the whiskey scent that accompanied them. Besides, even glancing at his dad's office prompted a lump in his throat.

"I think so, but do you really think that's a good idea?" Kyle replied, taut with imploration.

Stan huffed, looked to the ceiling.

"No, but, I need to get rid of this fucking sinking feeling, and I think alcohol is the only solution right now."

"Yeah, I get that, but-"

"Please, Kyle."

Stan had taken another step forward, his pained expression almost blinding. Kyle couldn't say no.

"Fine…"

Stan smiled, brightening somewhat, and followed Kyle into the kitchen.

"So… when did it happen?" Kyle asked, figuring it was easier to enquire about the still raw break-up when he had his back to Stan.

"An hour ago," Stan replied. "She asked me to come over after school, and I could tell something wasn't right, you know?"

"And what happened then?"

"We were both upset. I don't like seeing her cry so I hugged her and I thought for a moment that she'd change her mind. But, like, five minutes into the hug she pulled away and said that probably wasn't a good idea."

"Five minutes is a long time to decide a hug isn't a good idea, though," Kyle pointed out, opening the fridge.

He saw Stan shrug in the corner of his eye.

"Maybe she just felt sorry for me."

Kyle peered into the fridge, spying the half empty bottle of wine and the remaining three beer cans.

"So… uh… what do you want?"

Stan stood beside him, studying the contents of the fridge.

"Does your dad have more beers in the garage?" he asked.

"What?"

"He's almost done with that six pack. Does he have more for when he runs out?"

"I don't think he plans that far ahead," Kyle replied. "Besides, if we drank what was left wouldn't he notice something was up when he went to the fridge and his beers were suddenly gone?"

"Well, if he doesn't keep extra beers lying around then I doubt he would be keeping count of how much he's consuming."

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows and chuckled.

"That made zero sense. What kind of logic is that anyway?"

"Randy Marsh logic," Stan said with a smirk.

Kyle laughed, grabbing the beers out of the fridge, and Stan patted him on the back as they returned to the living room. They flopped down on the couch, the cans gasping and fizzing in unison as they were cracked open. Kyle cringed at the initial, bitter sip but kept drinking. Stan, however, wretched after one mouthful, his face pinking as he coughed. Kyle couldn't help but chuckle at the predictable sight. It seemed that one unpleasant experience of alcohol was repellent enough to haunt Stan forever.

"Come on, seriously?" Stan groaned, throwing his head back onto a cushion.

"What's the matter?"

"I can't even get drunk, dude. What the fuck?"

Kyle frowned, tapping the side of the can.

"If it makes you feel better, I don't think it would have helped, anyway," he said, soft and earnest.

"I know," Stan sighed. "I just thought it would."

Kyle nodded, taking another sip of his beer. He was bound to get in trouble for this, so he might as well make it worth his while.

"Did she say why she wanted to break up?" he asked. "You know, for real?"

"She said she's sick of trying to pretend this is fixable," Stan replied. "Breaking up, and making up, then breaking up and making up again… it's too frustrating a-a-and painful."

Kyle nodded again. Although he had never been in a romantic relationship before he had seen how exhausted Stan and Wendy both were when things were at their most precarious, he had heard his mom cry and threaten to leave when trusting his dad became too tiring. He had wandered to the top of the stairs late at night to find his dad sat on this very couch with his head in his hands, when the mess he had made thoroughly wore him out.

"But I love her, dude," Stan continued. "I really do. I don't understand how it can feel so bad though. Like, how can I want to be with her one minute, and break up with her the next, you know? It's fucked up."

Stan shook his head before pinching the bridge of his nose. Kyle always wondered why he did that. Was it to drown out everything that was complicated and chaotic about the world, or was it an attempt to hold himself together when he felt like falling apart or imploding?

"Well… relationships are hard, aren't they?" Kyle replied. "And sometimes, I guess there are moments when you think it's not worth it anymore. No matter how you feel about that person."

Stan sighed, hand slipping away from his face.

"But why does it have to be so complicated?"

"With Wendy?"

"Well, yeah, but generally too, I mean… Me and Wendy aren't the only couple who pulls shit like this, are we?"

Kyle shifted in his seat.

"No, but-"

"My mom and dad have split up, like, three times, Kenny's parents are always screaming at each other…" Stan paused, shook his head. "You think it's simple, when you meet the right person it's all supposed to come easily. But it doesn't. Why can't it all be like… like… you and me?"

Kyle frowned, unsure of the trajectory of the conversation.

"What about you and me?"

"We're great, aren't we?" A smile spread across Stan's face. He shifted so his whole body was facing Kyle, their knees were touching. "We've been best friends forever, and it's so fucking easy. I don't have to worry or even think about being friends with you, dude, because you're always here. You're always right here for me. We never split up."

Kyle swallowed, dropping his gaze to his lap.

"That's not exactly true…" he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"When your parents got divorced the second time we stopped hanging out for a while…"

Not even five years could heal the stinging regret, the aching helplessness he had felt when Stan was depressed. Walking away from him was the hardest thing Kyle had ever had to do, but in Stan's company Kyle could feel the energy and hope draining out of him and he couldn't let that happen.

"Oh…" Stan whispered, shoulders slouching again. "Oh yeah, that…"

Kyle would never forget the knockout punch; the 'fuck you' cried right to his face. His vision became blurry. He hated how it could bring him to tears after all this time.

"Hey…" Stan's soft voice in the present was an effective salve for that sour, drunk echo. Kyle let Stan hold his hand and squeeze it gently. "That was a long time ago and I was in a really shitty place. But you're my favourite person in the whole world, Kyle. I don't even want to think about a life without you in it."

When Kyle lifted his gaze Stan had leaned forward, eyes searching his face and his smile bright enough to draw a grin out of Kyle too. He laughed under his breath, a faint hum. He didn't know why. It must have been the beer, slowing down his thoughts, loosening the reins. But Stan chuckled softly in return, his gaze lingering on Kyle's lips. His smile faded, and his widened pupils had darkened his irises to an almost midnight blue, a starless, sunless, early morning. But Kyle's mind was swimming in warm, prickling water. Everything was becoming hazy.

Stan inched forward, close enough now that Kyle could feel his warm breath on his burning skin, close enough that Stan's knee was digging into his thigh but Kyle didn't protest. He doubted he could have raised his voice over the sound of his pounding heart. Stan's hooded eyes slipped shut, and Kyle followed him instinctively. He had no idea how they arrived here, he had no idea if this was what they were supposed to be doing, if it was a good idea. He just knew that their lips would soon meet, and it would be as comforting a clasp as the hug they shared at the door.

Instead, Stan heaved, and Kyle's eyes drifted open, the trance had been broken.

"Are you okay?" Kyle asked, still a little giddy.

The eager pink blush on Stan's face had drained white, curdling into unmistakable green. He shook his head and ran to the kitchen, with Kyle quick behind him, although he did stumble, blinded by the piercing white stars crowding his vision. Stumbling into the kitchen, he saw Stan hunched over the sink. The sound of retching and splashing vomit pulled Kyle out of his daze and he rushed over to his best friend, stroking his back.

"It's alright," Kyle soothed. "Dude, it's alright."

Stan shuddered, and his shoulders fell under Kyle's palm. He still remained slumped over the sink, groaning.

"Here…" Kyle muttered, reaching for a paper towel and handing it to Stan.

"Thanks…" he replied, eyes bleary as he wiped his mouth.

Kyle clasped his hands behind his back. He had seen Stan throw up around Wendy a million times, and he wondered if she had always felt this uncomfortable, as well as thoroughly grossed out. But Kyle wasn't the latter; concern overrode any disgust he might have felt. It was the discomfort, the heady shock that was making him wince, he never thought he could make Stan do that. Was Stan attracted to him? Had he always been? And was Kyle attracted to him too? He had never considered it before, but perhaps Stan hadn't until today… until he was heartbroken, lost, in need of comforting.

"Don't tell anybody, but… I could never get past that point with Wendy either."

Kyle laughed shakily. He didn't know what else to do, his thoughts were still foggy. A smile spread across his face when Stan laughed too. It gave Kyle hope that this would just be a funny, embarrassing incident they'll only reminisce about with each other. He supposed it wasn't so bad, adding another memory to the collection of others that were solely _theirs_. They exchanged warm smiles, colour rushing to their faces.

"Kyle, we're cool, aren't we?"

Kyle noticed the crease in Stan's brow, the plea buried in the question.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Yeah, we'll always be cool, dude."

* * *

 **15**

A Saturday afternoon spent in Sizzler was nothing unusual for Stan and his friends, but occupying a booth by the door in anticipation of a potential girlfriend walking in was a first. After a couple weeks of flirting in class and messaging each other when they got home, Stan had finally made a date with Laura. Getting a girl to like him was hard enough when he and the guys had been considered a magnet of weirdness in this town ever since third grade. Luckily, Laura lived in the next town over and didn't hang out with the South Park girls, so was unaware of this label. Stan wanted to keep it that way, but the fact that his four best friends had accompanied him to Sizzler would surely be enough to make her wary. Despite this, the guys did provide distraction when Stan was going out of his mind with worry; one anxious thought being relentlessly chased by another.

Wendy was the only girl he had ever dated, and even then they never got a chance to make out because Stan's nausea would extinguish the moment – and his confidence – entirely. He hoped that perhaps it was just a Wendy thing. He'd had a naïve infatuation with her since the moment they met. But even his strange, exhilarating near-kiss with Kyle had ended in disaster - their friendship thankfully unscathed. Why would a kiss from the person he trusted most in the world make him want to throw up? He tried not to ponder those sorts of questions for months, but it had been difficult. Especially when they were just a treacherous, winding path to even more daunting questions about his sexuality. He had never even considered being attracted to guys before Kyle's lips seemed so alluring. He was starting to understand why his sister had been so moody at his age. Being a teenager sucked.

"So are you assholes ordering anything or what?" Cartman asked, already glancing across the restaurant at the kitchen.

"No, Cartman, you can't order anything!"

"Why the hell not, hippie?!"

"Because you guys are all leaving when Laura gets here!"

"What?!" Cartman exclaimed, eyes widened. "We never agreed to that!"

Stan huffed and turned to his super best friend.

"Kyle! You said you guys would only stay here until Laura arrives!"

"Yeah, dude, I did!" Kyle replied, raising his hands in defence. "Fatass just wasn't paying attention!"

"I was too!"

"Dude, seriously, we can just go to KFC or something if you wanna eat," Kenny consoled.

"Fine…" Cartman pouted, folding his arms. "This chick better be worth it, Stan."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You've got to have _some_ action with her!" Cartman replied. "Otherwise, dragging us here was all for nothing."

Stan huffed again.

"You guys didn't have to come!"

"But this is a big deal!" Kyle chimed in. "It's your first date since you and Wendy broke up. We wanted to make sure everything went alright."

"Cartman raises an interesting point though, how far do you think you'll get with this girl?" Kenny asked.

Stan didn't know if his suddenly burning face was due to embarrassment or his brain finally frazzling from fretting over the answer to that very question. He glanced at Kyle, who had already fixed him a wary gaze. His frown was tight and his brows were furrowed. With no clear answer, Stan chose to shrug.

"I haven't really thought about it…"

Cartman scoffed. "Come on, dude…"

"I haven't!"

"Not even a little bit?" Kenny asked.

"No! It's only our first date!"

"So just a kiss then?"

"I don't know…" Stan murmured, eyes wandering to the door. "Maybe…"

"Maybe?!" Cartman exclaimed.

Kyle sighed, shaking his head.

"Guys, it doesn't matter."

"A minute ago you said it did!"

"Y-y-yeah, but-"

Kyle was interrupted by Cartman's short, obnoxious laugh.

"'Y-y-yeah, but-'" he teased, doing a rather nasally imitation of Kyle's voice. "You're losing your touch, Jewboy."

Kyle was scowling before a satisfied smile spread across his face. Stan knew that he had found a retort and couldn't wait to use it.

"If you had let me finish, fatass, I was going to say that… yeah, this date is a big deal because Stan's dating someone new." He became more earnest. "And because it's so important he shouldn't rush things with her. He needs to be considerate, and take his time."

Cartman rolled his eyes and reclined against the shiny, red leather.

"You're such a pussy, dude."

"Girls like that though," Kenny pointed out.

"And that's so unfair!" Cartman replied. "The chicks at our school already like Kyle because he's cute! Once they find out he's the sensitive type they'll be all over his ass! It puts all the other eligible guys at a disadvantage. Besides, he probably wouldn't let a girl anywhere near his dick until he wrote a fucking ballad for her first."

Stan was only momentarily snapped out of his smothering thoughts by Cartman's buried admission. Still, it wasn't enough to stop him from getting sucked back into the vortex. He couldn't even find it in himself rip on his friend. Thankfully, Kyle and Kenny could.

"Did you just call me cute?" Kyle asked, brimming with glee. He loved having any opportunity to tease Cartman.

"No!"

"You did!"

Even out of the corner of his eye, Stan could see the excruciating pink glow of Cartman's face. At least he wasn't the only one who was flustered.

"Shut the fuck up, douchebag!" Cartman shouted.

"Jesus, he's so fucking red!" Kenny laughed. "Look at you, dude!"

"Fuck off!" Cartman replied, shoving him.

"Want me to write a ballad for you, Cartman?" Kyle teased, leaning over the table.

"Kyle, I swear-"

Kenny was still laughing his ass off.

"Do it, dude!"

Stan couldn't take it anymore. His patience, his nerves, his _sanity_ , was fraying and the guys weren't making it any easier.

"Shut the fuck up!" he yelled. "Can't you guys just be quiet for two seconds?!"

Stan didn't realise he had stood up until he noticed the guys looking up at him, frozen and wide eyed. Stan's seethes had melted into trembles, the scrap of control he had aggressively snatched now felt pathetic and limp in his grasp. He winced at how his friends glanced at each other, confused and guilty. Honestly, he felt the same.

"Sorry…" Kenny mumbled.

"Dude, are you okay?" Kyle asked, shifting closer to Stan.

"Yes!" Stan snapped, before exhaling shakily and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I'm fine, I just need some air or something…"

Before any of the guys could reply, Stan rushed out of the diner. The cold air against his warm face was a reprieve from his neurosis for about a second, before it became a stinging dose of dreaded reality. He shook his head and buried his hands in his pockets, weaving his way through the cars in the parking lot. He needed to remove himself somehow.

"Shit…" he whispered to the ground. He imagined the word landing like spit on the sidewalk. He sighed, looking up at the floating clouds. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Hey…"

Stan jumped at the sound of another voice. Turning around, he saw Kenny walking towards him with a cautious smile on his face.

"Hey," Stan replied. "Where's Kyle?"

Kenny blinked, before rolling his eyes like he should have seen the question coming.

"Sorry, didn't know you were expecting him. I can go get him if you want?"

"No! It's okay. Kenny, it's fine, I just… Kyle is usually the one who follows me when I freak out."

Kenny nodded, scratching the nape of his neck.

"Yeah, he did wanna check on you but I figured this was more… you know, my area of expertise."

Stan furrowed his eyebrows.

"What are you talking about?"

"Girls," Kenny replied. "Well, dating…"

Stan nodded. He glanced at a car, or the conifers in the distance, anything but Kenny's patient face.

"So, what's up?" Kenny eventually asked.

"Nothing, it's fine…"

"Dude, what you did back there wasn't fine. Something is obviously bothering you."

Stan sighed, on the verge of defeat.

"What do you want me to say, dude?"

"Anything," Kenny replied. "Just tell me… is it about Wendy? Do you still like her?"

"No," Stan replied, shocked by the immediacy of his answer. "No, I don't think so."

"Okay." Kenny nodded slowly. "Do you want us to leave? Is that it?"

"No! No, I mean, I don't know… "

"Are you nervous?"

Stan pursed his lips, pissed off that Kenny had figured him out, had driven him into a corner he couldn't back out of. But he was also relieved that he had the opportunity to set the stifling truth free.

"Yeah…"

Again, Kenny nodded; quiet and understanding.

"She's only the second girl I've ever dated," Stan explained. "I haven't been on a first date since fourth grade! And I thought I was over all that but when you were talking about far I was gonna go and everything, I-"

"I never meant to put pressure on you, Stan," Kenny cut in, but his voice was soft.

"I know you didn't but… what if she does want to kiss me? What do I do then?"

Kenny shrugged, brow furrowed.

"Kiss her!" he replied. "If you're feeling it. What's the big deal?"

Stan rolled his eyes, and could feel the heat crawling up his neck.

"It's just I've… I've never actually…"

"What?"

Stan was burning from head to toe now. He wished he could hide or run away, so Kenny would never find or catch the truth written so clearly across his face.

"You've never kissed anyone?" Kenny finally asked.

Gritting his teeth, Stan shook his head.

Silence, then a barely audible scoff. Disbelief, Stan realised, there was nothing smug or mocking about it. If it was, Stan would've punched Kenny in the face already.

"Dude!" Kenny said. "Seriously? Not even Wendy?"

"No!" Stan snapped. "I mean, she pecked me on the lips once by surprise, and we've held hands and cuddled and kissed each other on the cheek and – it's not as if I haven't tried! And I wanted to, I really wanted to! But just the thought of kissing her – kissing anyone – made me wanna hurl."

He reeled at the confession that had rushed out of his mouth, and when Stan looked at Kenny he could tell he was still trying to process the information.

"Am I weird?" he asked.

"No…" Kenny whispered, before raising his voice. "No, maybe you're just overthinking it?"

"What do you mean?"

"A kiss is a pretty easy thing to do, dude," Kenny explained, with a small, encouraging smile. "It's nothing to be scared of and I think that's the problem. You panic about messing up so much that you literally worry yourself sick. Does that sound about right?"

"Yeah…" Stan nodded. How had it never occurred to him before? "Yeah I guess it does."

"And maybe you wouldn't feel nervous if you had some advice to remember the next time you find yourself wanting to mack on a pretty girl, right?"

Stan nodded again, quicker, surer. Kenny clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together.

"Okay, well… when your lips touch and you freeze up, you gotta snap out of it quickly. Think about nothing except the present moment and what's happening to you. Just focus on her and how soft her lips are, and how warm her breath is, and how sweet her lipgloss tastes. It's like mindfulness. It sounds difficult, but trust me, if a girl knows what she's doing she can make you forget your own name."

Stan snickered, and when Kenny smiled at him he wondered if he possessed that ability to inflict short-term amnesia with his mouth. After all, Kenny had kissed a lot of girls, and they say that practice makes perfect. Stan then had to wonder why his cheeks had warmed up again and why his heart was beating a little faster.

"And your tongue… you're not wielding a weapon, alright?" Kenny continued. "Don't go stabbing her with it. Just imagine your favourite ice cream on the hottest day of the year, how would you go about licking that? And you don't have to answer."

Stan laughed again but ducked his head. He couldn't meet Kenny's eyes when he was talking about how best to lick things.

"Lastly, remember to angle your head! Rookies make the mistake of staying still like a deer in the headlights, but you've gotta move, you've gotta be loose, okay?"

Stan raised his head and nodded.

"Okay…"

"Feel better now?"

"A little."

"A little?"

"Yeah, I mean, it was entertaining and useful but… I'm still terrified."

"Anything else I can do to help?"

"I don't know."

Kenny nodded, but he looked just as disappointed as Stan. He thought he had a way to fix that, if it was an impulse he was prepared to act on.

"Maybe…"

Kenny stepped forward.

"What?"

"Well, some people learn by listening, right?" Stan asked. "Or watching. And some learn by doing…"

Kenny arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Well, maybe I'm one of those people."

"Meaning?"

Stan rolled his eyes. He should've known Kenny was going to make him say it. The only time he ever had today. But maybe expressing his desires wasn't such a bad thing, such a terrifying thing, although he felt nauseous just thinking about it. But holding himself back, clutching his inhibitions so close wasn't doing himself any favours.

"Could you show me how to kiss?" Stan asked. The question was prickling, searing, like a bolt of lightning branded on his skin. He stepped forward, electrified. "Like, really show me?"

Kenny remained still, calm. Only the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. Stan really had to stop looking at his lips.

"You want me to make out with you?"

Stan nodded, his skin was so warm and damp with sweat that it felt like it was sizzling, like the mid-afternoon sun was cooking him. Or maybe his thoughts of Kenny's lips pressed to his own were so fervent they had scorched his mind. Since when was the notion of kissing his friends so tempting?

"Only for a minute, and only as a demonstration," he replied, his voice straining.

Kenny's small smile widened. He shoves his hands in his pockets and stared at the sidewalk. After an agonising moment of contemplation he began to nod to himself.

"Okay," he finally said, looking up.

Stan's heart seemed to leap into his throat. He could've choked.

"Okay?" he asked, taking another step forward.

"Yeah, but not now," Kenny replied, taking a cruel step back.

"Huh?"

"I'm not kissing you now, not when you've asked for it. I'm going to take you by surprise, so you have no time to think. Just do."

"Alright…" Stan nodded, reluctant. But he didn't want to seem too eager.

"Cool." Kenny grinned. "We should go back inside."

"Sure."

They strolled through the parking lot, but Stan was feeling anything but relaxed. He'd had enough anticipation for one day.

"Token's band are looking for a guitarist, think you might be interested?" Kenny asked.

"I don't know," Stan replied. "It sounds cool but I'm super busy with eco-council, and homework, and my dad is still passive aggressively mentioning football to me over dinner every night."

Kenny chuckled.

"Besides, if things go well with Laura that would be another person to dedicate my time to."

Kenny shrugged.

"Not a bad thing though."

"No, I guess it isn't," Stan replied, smiling when his mind wandered to the past. "Hey, remember that time in fourth grade when we formed a-"

Stan was robbed of his words when Kenny's fingers clutched his shirt, pushing him against the wall. Before Stan could recover them, Kenny had smashed their lips together. Stan was always surprised by the strength Kenny possessed, that he had kept concealed all these years, in everything he did; brave, protective, and passionate – Stan realised – in so many ways. His stomach heaved, but he didn't feel queasy, he just felt butterflies. When Stan returned the kiss – heavy, lidded eyes slipping shut and lips parting further- Kenny encouraged him, tongue sliding into his mouth.

Their short-lived moans drowned in the hot, wet clasp, and their gasps were equally as brief when they relinquished each other, coming up for much needed air. Stan needed his inhaler, or a defibrillator. His heart was racing so fast he feared it wouldn't be able to keep up the demanding tempo… unless the heat got to him first, burned out and strung out. His mind was melting, his thoughts slowing down until they expired all together. He hazily recalled Kenny's thing about a kiss being so good it could make you forget your own name. And Stan certainly could've forgotten what this was all for, or why he had been so terrified in the first place. But he knew he wasn't ready for this to end, he was sure of that. He blindly reached out for Kenny's hoodie – the orange parka had long been discarded – grasping the soft material and tugging him closer, pressing them closer together.

But all too soon they separated, breathless and shaking – even Kenny. His unkempt blond hair was falling into his brows, and his irises were as dark as a stormy sea.

"Dude…" Stan murmured.

He noticed the string of saliva connecting their glistening lips and grimaced, wiping it away. He heard Kenny chuckle.

"Gross…" he muttered.

"Was it?"

When he looked at Kenny, his face was still pinked and he was smiling softly.

"No." Stan shook his head, the word lost. He cleared his throat. "No, it wasn't."

Stan returned the smile, before they both realised Kenny still had his hands on his shoulders. But Kenny didn't snatch his hands away, his fingers brushed and lingered before he placed his arms at his sides.

"Laura will be here soon," Stan said, almost apologetically.

Kenny nodded, like he had forgotten.

"Right…"

Before he could walk away, Stan reached out and wrapped his fingers around Kenny's wrist.

"Thanks, dude."

"No problem," Kenny smiled.

Stan followed him back inside, still feeling the press of his first, real kiss.

* * *

 **16**

Eric waited by his mom's bedroom door as she changed into her night clothes in the bathroom. As he waited he thought about the fight still ringing in his ears; he thought of Mike stumbling out of the house, sobered from the punches and kicks but wracked with heady adrenaline; he caught brief snatches of what his mom had said, what he had said, what Mike had said. It was all returning to him slowly, like the present was peeling away the filmy shock from his mind. He winced when he remembered Kyle was there, had witnessed it all. He thought of how Kyle had responded and couldn't stop, the raw memory stuck on a loop and still Eric couldn't make sense of it.

Eric was used to his mom dating regularly now. He had been pissed off at first, indignant that she thought her attention could be equally split between her son and whatever lame boyfriend she acquired, when Eric had always demanded so much of it. But Eric always found a way to make the most out of a bad situation, or rather, gain the most from a bad situation. When his mom was on dates, or weekend trips, he had the house entirely to himself. And what teenager doesn't cherish privacy and independence no matter how short-lived? His mom seemed to have the same mindset when it came to boyfriends. When Eric was still apprehensive about her newfound dating life, she assured him she wasn't searching for a husband, or potential step-father for him. She just wanted companionship and to have some 'fun'. Eric grimaced at what she was referring to, it wasn't as if he had never caught her having fun before.

Since his mom had gone for drinks with Mike, Eric decided to be charitable and share his free house with the guys. He wasn't even irritated when Kyle chose to stay long after Stan and Kenny left. In fact, he was kind of expecting it. Kyle was always the last to go home whenever they all hung out. Eric guessed that Mr and Mrs Broflovski weren't just limiting their arguments to the counsellor's office. Despite how many nights he wasted crying over the impossible, no matter how horribly left out he felt on Father's Day, Eric had learned over the years that having two parents in the house doesn't necessarily make that home a happy one. Indeed, that was somewhat proven when Eric and Kyle's night of over-competitive video game playing, and testing Kyle's self-righteousness with crude jokes that reddened his face with barely contained laughter, was ruined by his drunken mom and her even more wasted boyfriend bursting into the living room already screaming at each other.

It was all so shrill, and slurred, and senseless, that Eric felt like screaming at them himself for ruining what was actually a pretty good night with his friends. He wanted to clamp a hand over Kyle's mouth for trying to defuse the situation when he was the only one behaving rationally - for, like, a second. At least that's how it seemed to Eric when Kyle's fist was suddenly colliding with Mike's face. He had to let his mom cry to herself while he tried to pull Kyle off of Mike, tried to grab Kyle's arms or his hands balled into fists while the two scrambled on the floor, bruised and bleeding already. In the now silent house, the early morning, the fear Eric had buried inside him lurched like he was about to throw up.

Kyle had only relented when Mike punched him in the nose. Eric had heard something crack, and Kyle bled easily. The commanding, glistening red urged all the colour from Kyle's face and only when he was drained was Eric able to pull him up from the carpet. His mom had screamed.

Now Eric was searching for the missing moment. The word, or action, or feeling that made Kyle abandon his articulacy for his, Eric realised, pretty powerful fists. Above the cacophony Eric had heard Mike say 'son of a bitch', and 'worthless', and 'piece of shit family'. Kyle didn't even give him a chance to get the last syllable out on the latter. But what was the reward for finding that missing moment? When Eric felt just as dazed and hollow when Mike left. What was the emotion he was supposed to grant Kyle for what he did? Anger? Fear? Gratitude? All had vied for his attention, but he refused to settle on one.

He turned his head at the sound of the bathroom light being switched off. He saw his mom wrap her dressing gown a little tighter around herself, her head bowed. But she must have noticed him staring, for she lifted her head slightly and met his eyes.

"Hey…"

"Hi, sweetie."

She took her earrings off. When she was closer to him Eric noticed she was still shaking.

"Come on…" he muttered.

She followed Eric into her bedroom, and he turned on the light when they entered. She walked so slowly to her bed that she appeared to be floating, and she placed her earrings on the nightstand before getting under the covers.

"You alright?" Eric asked.

His mom nodded, but her stare was vacant and exhausted.

"Eric, I'm so sorry."

Eric sighed, rolling his eyes at the needless apology. It wasn't hers to give.

"Don't be, mom, it's not your fault. That guy is a fucking asshole."

"He doesn't always act like that."

"Doesn't matter. He's still an asshole." He softened his voice when he said, "you don't need him, mom."

Her eyes wandered.

"Maybe…"

"Mom." Eric cut in. "You don't, alright?"

She nodded again, heavy with thought. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she gasped.

"Oh, and Kyle! Is he okay?"

Eric fidgeted, glancing at his feet. He honestly didn't know the answer. Kyle was still downstairs waiting for him.

"He'll be fine," Eric replied. "I'll take care of it."

"Oh…" she sighed, Eric could see her whole body rise and fall beneath the covers. "Oh, Eric, I'm so sorry… tell him I'm sorry, will you?"

"Yeah, I will."

His mom smiled tightly, her eyes watering again.

"Thank you, dear."

"Good night."

"Good night, sweetie. I love you very much."

"I know." Eric nodded. "Love you too."

He shut off the light, and once the door was closed behind him he sighed, preparing himself to face Kyle downstairs. Maybe he could get a better idea of what the hell he was thinking when he was tending to Kyle's injuries. Halfway down the stairs he saw Kyle studying his face in the small mirror in the living room. It wasn't a close, curious inspection – it seemed like he was trying to stay as far away from his reflection as possible – rather, it was disbelieving and frightened. When Kyle's eyes caught Eric's in the glass he realised he had stopped and stared. He gulped, before a smile wavered on Kyle's face that he easily returned.

"We need to clean that mess up, dude," Eric said when he reached the bottom step.

Kyle nodded, before they both silently made their way to the kitchen. Switching the light on, Eric then took one of the chairs and placed it near the sink.

"Sit here," he instructed.

Kyle had been standing there with his arms folded, and he didn't uncross them as he sat down in the chair. They didn't talk as Eric searched a cupboard for the first aid kit. Their bickering and laughing seemed to belong to another night. This quiet, obedient Kyle seemed to belong to another universe.

"You okay?" Eric asked.

No response.

"What? Yeah, why?"

"I don't know." Eric shrugged. "You're not usually so quiet. I thought you might have been in shock or something."

"No," Kyle replied, uncomfortably light before he sighed. "No… at least I don't think I am."

Finding the first aid box, Eric then placed it on the counter besides Kyle. He took out fluffy pads of cotton wool and some Neosporin for the cuts on his face. The two big rings Mike wore had most likely punctured the skin, Eric had always thought they could do some serious damage. Right now, that didn't seem so impressive. Kyle's breathing was laboured, clogged, like he had a cold. Eric kneeled down so they were eye to eye, only when he was studying Kyle's face this closely did he notice how asymmetric and swollen Kyle's nose was.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Kyle asked.

"Like what?"

Eric's eyes were still roaming Kyle's face.

"Like super intense, dude," Kyle replied. "You look like you want to kill me."

"I'm going for concern, asshole. I think Mike may have broken your nose."

Kyle twitched, his eyes flashed.

"It does hurt like hell," he admitted.

"How about when I do this?"

Eric placed two fingers on Kyle's nose, applying the gentlest pressure to the warm, thick skin. Kyle immediately winced, his eyes squeezing shut and fat tears pooling at his lashes. Eric withdrew, and it took Kyle a few, shy practice blinks before he could look Eric in the eye, unavoidable considering their proximity. He scowled and dabbed his eyes, and Eric couldn't help but smile at the depths of Kyle's stubbornness. He could still cling onto it even now.

"God, are you enjoying this?" Kyle asked, voice taut.

"No!" Eric shouted, forgetting himself. Kyle balked, furrowing his eyebrows at him. "You need an icepack. Do you want some ibuprofen too?"

Kyle nodded, head lowered.

Eric stood up, not entirely sure what task needed to be completed first. He wiped his damp palms on his jeans and glanced around the kitchen for guidance.

"Painkillers first," Kyle said.

Wordlessly, Eric ran the faucet before getting a glass out of the cupboard. Filling the glass, he then handed it and the ibuprofen to Kyle. He watched Kyle place the painkillers on his tongue, raising his head to the ceiling.

"Don't tip your head back," he warned.

God knows how much blood was in Kyle's nostrils right now. Kyle glared at Eric, but listened to him anyway, taking the tablets without choking.

"Icepack please."

Eric nodded, heading to the freezer to retrieve the icepack. He rolled his eyes when his back was turned, bristling at being given orders (even when the person who was giving him orders just kicked the ass of his mom's dickhead boyfriend).

"Thank you, nurse fatass," Kyle smiled, taking the icepack from Eric.

"Shut up, dude," he muttered.

"Aren't you going to tend to my poor broken nose?" Kyle teased, leaning forward in the chair.

Eric shot him a wry smile.

"No, I need to take care of those cuts on your face."

Kyle's shoulders drooped. He had sobered considerably, leaning back in his chair and nodding.

"Stay still."

Eric put some Neosporin on a cotton wool pad, before applying it to a nasty, crimson cut on Kyle's cheek. Kyle seethed, his skin pulling tight when he closed his eyes shut. Even Eric winced, but he quickly corrected himself by chuckling softly.

"Pussy…"

Kyle's eyes opened and he stared at Eric hard.

"Seriously?" he snapped.

The weight of the night had been unbearable, the tension now crushing them. Eric wished he had stuck with his initial sympathy, but continued to treat Kyle's wounds in silence.

"This… this was the first time tonight, wasn't it?" Kyle asked.

"What?"

"That was the first time your mom and Mike ever argued like that."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was," Eric replied. "He always seemed pretty cool to me. Kind of a miserable bastard, but, you know, that's normal, isn't it?"

Kyle sighed, lowered his gaze.

"I don't ever want to be like him."

"You'll never be like him," Eric assured. He swore he could've seen Kyle's eyes brighten. "You're too neurotic."

That glimmer extinguished, Kyle rolled his eyes and they chuckled.

"So what will your mom do now?"

"I'll tell her to break up with him but I don't know if she will. She'll probably give him a second chance."

Kyle's eyebrows rose, and he looked at Eric like he was endorsing the idea.

"After how he behaved tonight?"

Eric snickered sardonically.

"You really don't know my mom, do you? The woman has the patience of a deluded saint."

"I guess I can't really criticise her," Kyle sighed. "My mom has crazy levels of tolerance for the shit she's had to deal with."

The space between them became stifling again. Kyle rarely discussed his parents' marital problems, especially when unprompted. Eric didn't know how to respond, and he wished Stan and Kenny were here.

"Some people would say that's kind of… admirable, though," he finally said. "Right?"

Kyle's eyebrows furrowed and he asked, "really?"

"You tell me." Eric shrugged. "Patience isn't exactly my strong suit."

"I don't see what's so admirable about what my parents are doing though. Sometimes I wish they would just give up and stop pretending."

Kyle tensed, his gaze wide, and preoccupied. It was almost as if the words were taken from him unwillingly. Eric had never heard him say that before, he wondered if he had told Stan and Kenny what he just told him now.

"Yeah, well, there's that…" Eric muttered, avoiding eye contact.

"Relationships are tricky."

Eric nodded in agreement.

"Why bother?" he asked.

Kyle shrugged, and Eric lifted the cotton wool pad from Kyle's cheek.

"I told you to stay still," he smiled.

"Sorry… So, listen, um, if your mom does end up staying with Mike, and something like this does happen again… I want you to call me, okay?"

Eric glanced at Kyle, brow creased.

"Why? So he can break your nose again?"

"So I could protect you!"

"I don't need protection, Kyle!"

"Fine! Help you, then!"

"Help me how?" Eric exclaimed. "Look, if I'm gonna call anybody I'll be calling the cops if he gets physical again."

Kyle huffed, shook his head, and Eric didn't bother reprimanding him. The concern painted across Kyle's marred face was making him wither.

"And how are you going to defend yourself until the police get here?" Kyle asked. "How are you going to defend your mom?"

"Hey! I can stand up for my own mother!" Eric snapped. "And since when did you wanna start standing up for me, huh?!"

Kyle balled his fist and grumbled.

"Since always, you stupid piece of shit! That's what friends do!"

"It isn't what we do! Jesus, when I was legitimately concerned about you, you thought I was plotting your murder!"

Kyle let out a short, derisive laugh.

"Well, usually when you look at me like that you're working on some kind of scheme."

"That was a long time ago," Eric replied, shaking his head. "Besides, you've proven my point."

"Okay, so maybe our friendship is-"

"Fucked up?"

" _Unconventional_ ," Kyle corrected. "But when things really are fucked up we help each other out, don't we? We look out for each other, at least I like to think so…"

Eric blinked, recalling how his arms shook carrying Kyle out of his house, charred from the storm in San Francisco; how he could hardly string a sentence together, choking on sobs when he placed the oxygen mask over Kyle's mouth in Washington; how he couldn't spend one more minute in that hospital when he know those PC douchebags were targeting Kyle. He would've nodded, told Kyle everything, but now was not the time or the place.

"I may say the opposite sometimes when I'm really fucking angry at you, but… I care about you, Cartman," Kyle continued, the smallest, most earnest smile flickering on his face. "Despite myself, I always have and I always will."

Eric lowered his arm, his lips parting, and he reeled at the most sincere thing anybody had ever said to him, coming from the most unlikely source; a vulnerable, honest Kyle. The overwhelming rush of affection wasn't new. It had spurred on so many of his most reckless, impulsive, desperate actions. He knew the bittersweet echo of confusion and shame that followed it. After all these years how hadn't he figured Kyle out? Himself out? But he guessed this was something, a catastrophic night prompting confessions Eric never knew he needed to hear. His nose stung, his throat clenched, and he ducked his head.

"Cartman?"

He heard the crunch of the icepack being placed on the table, then felt a strong, careful hand on his shoulder. Kyle had lowered his head to look at him. Eric could make out his blurred features in the corners of his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Sniffling, he lifted his head to meet Kyle's eyes. He was smiling wetly at him, hand still on his shoulder. They were closer now, if Eric leaned forward their faces would touch. So he did, and their foreheads met. Neither spoke, or outwardly reacted, maybe the catch of a breath, that was all. Eric felt like he was panting, like he had been sprinting after a messy, tangled conclusion all these years and he had finally found it. They were staring into each other's eyes, both anticipating something it seemed, unnerving and exhilarating. If he leaned forward a little more…

Closing his eyes, Eric leaned forward and connected their lips. Kyle's lower lip was slightly swollen, and Eric could feel him wince. He shivered at how nothing was a secret between them when they were this close. Kyle returned the kiss, urgent at first but he quickly became cautious of the pain, softening. Eric melted, the shock making him falter, but this couldn't be over just yet. Emboldened, he tried to push his tongue into Kyle's mouth. Kyle moaned, muffled, careful not to open his mouth before gently shoving Eric away.

"No, Cartma- Eric," Kyle corrected himself, holding both his shoulders now. He frowned. "I can't. I'm sorry, I can't."

A lump had risen in Eric's throat when Kyle called him by his first name; deliberate and intimate. There were so many things he never knew he had needed from Kyle that he had given him tonight; namely the feeling of his lips pressed against his. Still, frowning, Kyle wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug.

"I'll never let anything or anybody hurt you," Kyle whispered in his ear. "I promise."

Eric nodded, before untangling himself from Kyle's embrace and wiping his tears.

"God damn it… is this payback or something?" he asked, but he couldn't take himself seriously. "For making you cry earlier?"

Kyle laughed, rolling his eyes.

"No, I really meant it," he smiled. "I meant every word."

Eric sniffed, still dabbing the corners of eyes.

"Well, whatever it's worth, I promise the same thing, Kyle," he said with a shy smile. Sobering when he added, "Anybody who tries to hurt you has to go through me first."

Kyle nodded, beaming appreciatively.

"Thank you."

They broke eye contact for a moment, probably to collect themselves.

"So how are you going to explain all this to your parents?" Eric asked, gesturing to Kyle's face.

Kyle's eyes widened.

"Oh, shit, I have no idea… I, uh, fell?"

They both laughed at the lame excuse.

"You may be a good friend, but you're a shitty fucking liar, dude," Eric grinned.

"I'm a great liar! I just need a little more time to think of something."

"Yeah, sure…" Eric replied, before giving Kyle a sincere nudge. "But I'll help you come up with something, and I'll even back you up."

"Thanks, dude."

"But…"

Kyle's eyes narrowed but he was still smiling.

"What?"

"It is gonna take a few hours for us to come up with a story," Eric replied. "So do you wanna stay over?"

Eric was surprised by the nervousness twisting in his gut. Kyle blinked, before grinning and nodding.

"Sure, sounds good."

After treating Kyle's injuries the boys went to Eric's room, crashing on his bed and trying to come up with a plausible story for Kyle to tell his parents. But their exhaustion just rendered the stories more half-assed and ridiculous until they were eventually chuckling to themselves. They vowed to come up with something when they woke up, before falling asleep.

Eric awoke a few hours later, happy that Kyle was still so close to him and – despite his vicious drying scars and swollen nose - sleeping peacefully; and so god damn glad that he had made all those reckless, impulsive, and desperate decisions to keep him around.


End file.
